As Sirens Call to Sailors
by funnygirl00
Summary: Lady Tamera Trenowyth, flees from an abusive father to find herself a guest of the Holmes estate. An accident, forces her to remain in the Holmes' care, to her misfortune, especially when she fights the attraction to their youngest son, Sherlock. But as sirens call to sailors, the urge to resist the call of forbidden danger is too enticing to resist.
1. 1: Sweet liberty

**Ahh, as you can see, I've got another Sherlock/Tammy story in the works. Since, 'if you asked me to' do so well, I had to do another. This time, it's set in the Tudor time period and yes, I was somewhat inspired by Benedict's performance in the other Boleyn girl. The title, was inspired by the song 'Sirens' from the 'Jane Eyre' musical by James Barbour. Great song, I heartily suggest listening to it, to give you somewhat of an idea of what kind of drama we're heading for.**

****And as always, I own nothing except for Tammy.****

**Also, my grandfather passed away a few days ago. I've been distracted, as you can imagine, and maybe, this story will be a way of helping me collect my thoughts together. Don't expect my updates to be so quick, but, give me some time and this story will progress.**

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><p>Chapter one: Sweet Liberty<p>

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><p>"You worthless, piece of sewage from the gutter!"<p>

I close my eyes as I listen to my father degrade my mother. She wasn't crying yet, but it was only a matter of time. Crack! The sound of flesh being slapped, a thud and a grunt informed me that my father had hit her hard enough to knock her to the ground. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the locked door. I wanted to help her, but as I was locked in my room. My mother began crying and pleading for him to stop. I heard cloth tearing and my mother let out a sharp cry of pain. I kicked the door as tears streamed down my cheeks, frustration pulsating through me. I felt so weak, so useless, angry and guilty. It was my fault that my father was abusing my mother.

"You strumpet!" My mother let out another shuddering cry of pain. "You've…turned our daughter…into an ungrateful whore."

I stomped over to the window and flung it open. The chilly, wintery air rang through my room, whipping my hair back. I inhaled the sharp, chilled air, wishing with each breath I drew would cause my death.

I'd turned down Lord Roger Michelin's offer of marriage. My father had beaten me in front of Roger, demanding I change my mind, but I'd refused. He then dragged me to my room, by my hair and locked me inside. Now, he was taking out his anger on my mother and her already broken body.

As I inhaled the freezing cold air, the desire to die filled me. I hated it when this feeling came upon me, dying was one thing, but wishing for it was a sinful thing. Especially when I didn't know, what life held yet for me. As I listened to my mother's groans in the background, a strong desire suddenly filled my broken body.

I'd leave this house, I'd run away, leave. I don't know what father would do to mother, but, maybe if I weren't around, he wouldn't have a reason to come and torture her. I also realized that if I were gone, my father would put every single effort into trying to find me, leaving my mother alone for however long I was gone. I was a stubborn woman, foolish maybe, but I couldn't and wouldn't submit to my father's will and whims. Sinful, maybe, but I cannot do what he wishes when my heart isn't in it. I cannot marry any ancient, crude, lustful man just because his purse strings are big enough to suit my father.

I made my decision, it was as if my soul had been lit on fire and I decided to follow my heart and head. I grabbed two bags from under my bed and began to put undergarments and essentials in it. I had some money and fortunately, plenty of jewelry, which I could sell. My other valise, I put my dresses in. my father loved to waste money on my apparel, so these dresses would cost me a pretty fortune, I grabbed my warmest cloak, tied it on myself and chucked the bags out of the window, they landed on the snow with a thud.

I haphazardly gripped the curtain, lowered it out of the window and began to shimmy down it. Naturally, I couldn't reach the ground completely; I fell the last few feet, fortunately, onto a snow-filled bush. I didn't waste time grabbing my bags and glancing around. Nobody had seen me and nobody appeared to have heard my rather noisy descent. My father had ordered all windows closed and sealed during the winter, so no one could see me from inside. Grabbing my bags, I tramped through the snow towards the gate. I pushed through and then headed for the street, fortunately for me, there was a coach passing by at that moment and the man inside insisted on giving me a lift. Ordinarily, I was skeptical about help from strangers, but it served to get me from the house quickly.

It turned out to be fortuitous, the man immediately like the amber bracelet I was wearing and I asked him to name a price. He gave me fifty pounds, less than my bracelet was worth, but I thought it was a perfect price for me. Now, I could buy a ticket on the next coach out of here without having to spend my money.

The fifty pounds would allow me to get within 20 miles of London. Since, I had no relatives that far out, I decided to go there. It was a big city and it would be possible for me to find some sort of occupation. I wasn't sure what I was capable of doing, maybe I could find work as a seamstress or a ladies maid. I probably wasn't suited to even those little tasks, but, I'd been waited on and I was certain of how a lady's maid should act and I had a very good hand.

The coach dropped me off in the middle of nowhere. While it was cold that day, at least the sun was shining down on me. However, I could tell that I only had a matter of hours before the sunset. It was a two-mile walk to the nearest town, so I better get walking.

Drawing my hood over my head, I began walking the snowy and muddy path. My shoes were immediately soaked, as they weren't appropriate for this type of travel. However, all of my shoes were of the same inferior quality. Perfect for dancing, not trekking through the mud.

I inhaled and began singing a song that I'd heard from a group of minstrels. _It's 7:00 in the morning; I lift my eyes to autumn skies. I look up to the graveyards, a silhouetted swallow fly. He flies to distant countries; I lose him just behind a cloud. I long to be that swallow and go where I am not allowed! Over mountain, over oceans, heaven take me away! For I long for my liberty, for sweet liberty I pray!_

My song ends rather abruptly as my ears become aware of something in the forest to my left. I stopped singing and stand there. I can hear nothing except for the crackling of branches. I watch and I can see branches moving, but I can spot nobody. I am now realizing the folly of my actions. I am in the middle of nowhere, in the perfect spot to be ambushed and I have no earthly way to defend myself! I didn't even think of grabbing a dagger before leaving!

In my apprehension, I grabbed a handful of snow and wadded it into a snowball. I threw it at a tree, hoping to draw whatever was in the bushes attention towards it. However, I had a terrible aim, I missed the tree completely and my snowball went towards the rustling leaves. As I picked up another handful of snow, I heard a man shout. "OW!" All my fears dissipated as I realized that I had hit some unsuspecting person, probably upside the head with a snowball!

A man came stomping out of the woods; his expression was one of annoyance. I couldn't tell much of his physic, as he was bundled up. However, his face was extremely angular and his cheekbones were prominently sharp.

"Who are you?" He demanded. "And why are you throwing snowballs at me?"

Now, I was indignant. He thought I did it on purpose! I didn't even see him! "My name is Lady Tamara Trenowyth."

"Interesting name," he states. "you're named after the goddess of river and streams. Your name, though British, in Hebrew means 'date palm."

I roll my eyes as I grab my cases. "I'm glad you approve of my name, I believe I'll keep it." I held his gaze as I prepared to walk away. "As to what I was doing, I thought that you were an animal of sorts. Forgive me for succumbing the urge to find myself some sort of protection."

His brow arched in curiosity. "Granted." I roll my eyes and begin to walk away, only to find that he has begun to walk beside me. "You're not from around here."

"No, I'm not. Who are you anyway?" The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

His brow arched in curiosity, as if he were surprised that I didn't know him. He crossed his arms across his chest. "Sherlock Holmes."

I arch a brow. "And? Is that supposed to mean something?" Now, he looked amused at my indignation. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"You should be." He smirked, those blue, gold and green eyes of his danced in amusement.

"Well, I'm not! So, forgive me for not falling in a heap at your feet!"

He chuckled darkly as he surveyed me. "So, what are you running away from?" I open my mouth to protest, but he holds his hand up. "Don't even bother lying to me. You're obviously a lady of very high rank, your clothes, jewels and hair attest to that fact. You've got only two pieces of baggage, unusual, unless you were robbed. Though, judging by the firm tilt of your head and your temper, any thief would be idiotic to try to rob you."

"Thank you. Now, excuse me," I stated. "I've got two miles to walk to the nearest town."

He shook his head. "You'll never make it. There's a storm coming up, you don't have appropriate attire nor the shoes, you'd be found dead tomorrow."

"Then I better get moving and maybe I can beat the storm."

He exhaled in irritation and grabbed my bags from my hands. "Come."

I glowered at him and reached for my bags. "No!"

"You can stay at my parent's house, it's just through the woods." He began walking briskly through the woods. "Mother will be delighted to have you."

"Listen, Mr. Holmes, I appreciate the concern, but my life is none of your concern."

"Besides, I happen to know for a fact," he states as he glowers down at me. "that your father is probably ten minutes behind you." Now, he had my full attention. "You'll be granted safety at our house. I doubt any tavern or inn will offer you the same guarantee."

He continued walking and I followed behind him. My heart was pounding so badly in my chest that I couldn't form another word to voice an objection of him and his actions. I was in a strange place, with a strange man, yet, as I followed him through the woods, I felt safe for an unusual reason.


	2. 2: The Holmes family

Chapter two: The Holmes family

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><p>I stared up at the beautiful, brick and light brown wood residence. It had the word 'home' pasted all over it. I could smell the cedar firewood burning in the hearth and I could see everyone bustling around inside, everyone looked happy, to my eye at least. I smiled and paused as I admired this house. Even in the snow, it was a very beautiful place, surrounded by pine trees and a bridge over a somewhat large river. I can only imagine what it must look like in the summer.<p>

"Are you coming or what?" Sherlock said abruptly, shifting one of my bags under his arm. He refused to carry both, still, I wasn't surprised. "It's cold outside."

"Well, you were the one tramping around in the snow earlier!" I reminded him as I tightened my grip on the case and began to follow him into the house. "Even then, you were collecting plants. Like, who in their right mind does things like that?"

"Poisonous ones." He explained without looking back at me as he opened the door to his house. He walked in without granting me the right to enter first. "And then I get hit with a snowball in the head, for minding my own business."

"Well, you made my life your business," I said as I set down my suitcase and closed the door behind me. I rubbed my arms vigorously. "when you decided to force me to return here."

"And you should be grateful."

"My mother always told me not to bite the hand that feeds me." I said calmly. "The fact that I haven't bitten yours, clearly states that I am showing my gratefulness."

He leans forward and studies me closely. I lean forward, until we're almost nose-to-nose, and match his probing expression. "I didn't know," we both turned around to see another man, probably Sherlock's brother, standing there watching us with a smug look on his face. "that when I rounded this corner I'd be interrupting something rather intimate."

Sherlock made a face at his brother as he shrugged out of his coat. "She's just a stray cat Mycroft. Nothing more, nothing less."

Mycroft crosses his arms over his chest and smiles tightly at his brother. "Haven't you heard what happens to stray cats when they're found?" Sherlock doesn't even blink. "Typically, they never leave. So, I'd say you're stuck with her."

I shook my head. "I'm only staying for the night."

"Sherlock?" all three of our heads turned towards the sound of footsteps. And older woman in deep green dress and her gray hair pinned up elegantly rounded the corner. She stopped and looked at us, me in particular. She smiled as she stepped towards me. "Hello. Who is this? I wasn't aware you were bringing home a lady for me to meet Sherlock."

"I'm his stray cat." I spat out somewhat sarcastically. I bit my lip and closed my eyes in embarrassment. "Sorry, both of them have been calling me that. It just popped out and I apologize. My name is Tamera."

She laughed and hugged me. "Don't be. I know exactly how frustrating my boys can be, so don't be too concerned. You'll find that we speak quite plainly around here." She took a hold of my arm and guided me into the parlor. "So, how did you two meet?"

"I hit Sherlock in the head with a snowball." Her brows rose in surprise. "I was walking towards the nearest inn and he startled me." Sherlock let out a rude snort. "The only thing I had to defend myself was the snow at hand."

She smiles brightly. "Good! You're a resourceful and intelligent girl. And don't worry about Sherlock's head; it's always been exceptionally hard."

Sherlock exhaled and pulled off his coat. I could help but stare at him in amazement. His house, family and manners testified that they were a very wealthy family. He, however, was dressed in the simple clothes of a working man. "Thank you for your concern mother." He grumped. "Nice to know if she ever beats me to death that you had the courtesy to feed a girl whose intellect wasn't enough to know that the human head and brain are very fragile."

I glower at him. "I'm not an idiot."

"That has yet to be determined."

"It was only one snowball and I couldn't even see you. Be glad I wasn't close."

"If you were going to get kicked by a horse, pray you're standing close to it; it hasn't had time yet to gather up enough speed."

"Sherlock!" His mother said sharply. "Behave yourself. Now, take Tamera upstairs to the library. There's a fire going there and it'll be much more comfortable for her to talk."

Sherlock nodded and grumpily walked away and I followed him. Mrs. Holmes followed us, but she got stopped by one of the servants. Sherlock and I were halfway up the stairs when this huge Irish setter came running straight at me. "Redbeard!" Sherlock shouted sharply. The dog promptly ignored him and jumped right on me. The creature was huge and next thing I knew, I'd lost my balance and I was falling backwards down the staircase!

The whole household erupted into pandemonium as I landed in a crumble heap on the ground. Sherlock and Mycroft were shouting about Redbeard while Mrs. Holmes hurried to examine me. I struggled to sit up, but a sharp pain in my side caused me to cry out and lie back on the ground.

"Sherlock! Mycroft!" She shouted. "Both of you stop it this instance! Sherlock, go fetch the doctor, I think she's broken a rib." My eyes widened in alarm. "Mycroft put Redbeard away and help me get her upstairs to bed where the doctor can examine her better!"

"I don't think that-

"Stop arguing with your mother boys!" A voice full of authority came from the top of the stairs. I looked up to see an older man, Mr. Holmes, I'm assuming, grab both of them by the collar and give them a shove. Both hurried down the stairs immediately. "As long as you live under my roof, you'll do as she says! Now move!"

Mycroft mumbled in irritation. "Honestly. So ridiculous."

For a moment, I thought Sherlock was going to report his brother's disrespect, and then I could tell he thought better of it. Mr. Holmes knelt over me as he looked to his wife. "Now, what do you want me to do?"

"You and Mycroft can carry her up the stairs and follow me." I felt as if I were outside my body watching this whole thing going n around me. Mrs. Holmes fussed over every single step that Mycroft and Mr. Holmes carried me up. I reached over to grip my aching side, to find that I couldn't move my arm without feeling pain. Mrs. Holmes noticed my grimace, though I tried hard to hide it. "And her arm as well, mind it!"

After years of watching my mother being subjected to my father's cruelty, it was a surprise to see Mr. Holmes tolerate his wife's rather fiery tongue in such silence. I hope he wasn't going to punish her later for speaking so to him.

"Where are we putting her dear?" his tone, I searched for a single note of malice in his voice, but heard nothing unsettling.

"May I suggest," Mycroft said. "the guest bedroom next to Sherlock?" I glowered at him. "He knows her better than anyone else."

"That would be improper Mycroft!" she said, before hesitating. "However, there is a long corridor between them, so, it's not that bad an idea." She turned to me. "If, you've no objections."

I wasn't sure what to answer to that statement. However, I was in their debt and I wasn't going to quibble over their decisions. "I'm," why did my voice sound so weak? "grateful, for your hospitality."

Mrs. Holmes leaned forward. "Sherlock better hurry up with John, she does not look well at all." She pushed the bedroom door open and I found myself in a beautiful green, bedroom. The room was far better than my own at home and I found it unusual that I had such good fortune, even though I'd probably broken my arm and rib. Mrs. Holmes pulled back the covers and the men set me down. "Gently!" She ordered. "Mycroft, build up a fire, now." She turned to her husband. "You, have Janine fetch more blankets and ask her to have Mrs. Hudson prepare some tea. And ask Mary to have me help her get Tamera out of her clothes."

"Yes." Mr. Holmes walked dutifully out of the room without looking back at her.

She turned to me. "Now, you close your eyes and try to relax." The moment those words left her mouth, I lapsed into either unconsciousness or a deep sleep. It was one or the other, for I didn't remember what happened next except for dark, calming blackness.


	3. 3: Safe

Chapter three: Safe

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><p>I didn't think I'd survive the humiliation of a man binding my waist and rib, but I did. Doctor John Watson was different from all the other doctors. He acted in a reserved manner upon examining me. All the other doctors I had seemed delighted upon viewing a woman's flesh. He however, explained to me everything that was wrong with me and tried to keep me covered up as modestly as possible. After completing the examination, he gave me a draught for the pain before opening the door to let in the Holmes family.<p>

Sherlock was the first to speak. "How is she?"

"she'll be fine in time. A broken rib and she fractured her arm. I'm afraid she's going to be here for a while."

I shook my head. "No! I cannot stay here!"

"Stuff and nonsense Tamera," Mrs. Holmes said firmly. "you are in no condition to travel anywhere."

"I can't stay here!"

"She's being chased." Sherlock supplied helpfully, causing the blood to drain from my face at his words. "She grabbed whatever she could from her house, jumped on the first coach that took her as far as she could safely afford, depositing out here."

"Shut up." I spit out at him as tears fill my eyes. "You have no right to say such things. I wanted to go to the inn! You forced me to come here and it was your animal that put me in this situation."

"She's right, Sherlock, get out now." His mother ordered. "Everyone, out. I want to talk with Tamera for a while in private." Everyone shuffled out of the room obediently as Mrs. Holmes approached me. She fussed with the sheets and the pillows behind me before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Now," she glanced around the room. "since we're alone, why don't you tell me what happened to your face? I could see someone had hit you. Who was it?"

I bit my lip and admitted. "My father hit me."

"Why did he hit you?"

"Because…I'd turned down James Moriarty's offer of marriage and I solemnly refused to marry him."

"Good!" Mrs. Holmes stated as she folded her hands together. "Sir James has always been an unsavory character. Drives Sherlock up the wall, the two of them are always looking for ways to eliminate each other."

My eyes widened. "Sherlock knows him?"

"Yes. The two idiots refer to each other as 'enemies' when they aren't teasing each other or coming up with new dreadful experiments. But don't worry, you're safe here."

"If my father finds me-

"He will not take you away from here." I opened my mouth to explain that she had no control over my father. But, she held up a hand to silence me. "Now, Anne Boleyn's mother is a friend of mine. I will write to her about your situation and see if there's anything that Anne or the king can do to help you."

My mouth dropped open in astonishment. "You'd do that…for me?"

"Of course I would!" She laughed. "Tamera, it did my heart a lot of good to see you catch both of my son's off guard! Spunk like that deserves to thrive! So my husband tells me."

I bit my lip before asking. "Pardon me, but…does…Mr. Holmes always allow you to…address him like that?"

She frowned. "Like what?"

"Well, so…strong and forward."

She laughed merrily. "Trust me dear one, he loves it. He always was a bit on the shy side; God knows why he picked me. I had no dowry and I mistook him for a man of ill repute. But, I loved him and believe me; I was overjoyed when he asked me to marry me. People thought I'd married him for his wealth but he has a kind, gentle spirit and a generous soul. Besides," she smirked. "he loves my wild side." Her face sobered. "Why did you ask me that? Are your parents not happy together?"

I shake my head. "He hates her. I must have been conceived in rape, there is no way on earth that he loved her once in his life. If anything goes wrong, he hurts her, if I say something wrong; he hurts her, physically and verbally."

"And so you left…to avoid him and to be less of a burden to your mother?"

"That was part of the reason." I admitted. "However, I will admit for most part that I wanted to get out of that house before I killed myself and condemned myself to a life of hell."

My words didn't even shock her. "Well, it's a good thing my son is such a nuisance, for I should hate for you to die so young." She smiled and patted my arm. "You rest now and you will be safe here. I give you my word." She stood up and headed towards the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a letter to write."

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><p><em>Later that night,<em>

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><p>A sharp jab in my rib caused me to awaken. The pain was sharp, but bearable. I forced myself to sit up and reach for the beautiful, sky blue robe that had been left on my bed for me. I stood up carefully and pulled it on. I padded barefoot towards the door, cradling my arm. I shouldn't be walking around like this, but it was late and ten to one, no one would be up. I wanted to read something. So, I padded my way to where the library was, or at least I'd hoped where it was. Fortunately, for me, the first door I tried was the library.<p>

I exhaled as I surveyed the books; I hardly knew where to begin. There was a fire going fortunately, so I could sort of see. Spying a candle in a centerpiece on the table, I grabbed it and moved towards the fire. I let out a hiss as I knelt down to light the candle. The pain was sharp, but I could manage. After standing up, I began examining the shelves for something to read. After a few moments of searching, I spied a book of poetry by William Dunbar. I'd heard of his works, but had never been allowed to read any of his works. Excited, I moved to the nearest chair by the fireplace and sat down, fumbling to get the book open.

"Rather scandalous," I whipped around at the sound of Sherlock's voice, my hand clutching my ribs. "of you, to be walking around a strange house in a robe with your hair down." I self-consciously touched my hair as he stood up from the window sear, his simple, deep purple shirt unbuttoned slightly, giving me more of a view of a man's chest than I'd ever seen in my life. "However, it is an improvement as to how you had it so severely scraped back against your head earlier today."

I frowned. "Was that a compliment?"

"A statement is not necessarily a compliment," he said as he stared down at me. "I assure you, that was not one." He then looked at the book in my hand. "Wise choice. I gather you have an appreciation for the finer things in life."

"I do." I exhaled and leaned back into the chair. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, our neighbor murdered his wife and I just got the evidence. So, I'll be handing the evidence over to the authorities tomorrow. Hopefully they're not too stupid to dispute the evidence."

I blinked. "Interesting."

Now he frowned at me. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yes." I set the book of poetry and curled my feet up onto the chair. "Tell me about it."

He hesitated and studied me for a long moment before stepping towards me. "If you insist."

"I do."

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><p><strong>Sorry about the delay, but things have been hard and crazy on my end.<strong>


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